


one day i'll be just fine

by poetjasmi (orphan_account)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anxiety, Kissing, M/M, multilingual everyone!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-11 20:18:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9013870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/poetjasmi
Summary: He wanted to talk, he wanted to speak but words would not come. It’s so hard but he manages words, he tries at least, so that he can explain just how fine he will be one day soon. He’ll be fine. "I’ll be fine, Shou. I promise."In which Kageyama has a crush, social anxiety, and an anxiety dog -- not in that order.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I have this big pet-peeve where I hate piling on characters that are nonessential to the plot in the character tags. So, with that said, Oikawa and a dog (name's Luba which is derived from the Russian name Lyubov, meaning "love") are in this fic.
> 
> I will comment that I don't believe in google translate (it's horrible and I want to die every time I use it) so, of course, I kept everything in English because not only is it a pain in the ass to translate as a reader but it's also a pain in the ass to write as the writer. 
> 
> Another thing: I don't know anyone with mutism or extensively interviewed/studied someone with a social anxiety disorder. I can only research profusely so if there are any fallacies about these mental disabilities, I apologize. 
> 
> Last thing before you start reading: [kusakkabe's art](http://kusakkabe.tumblr.com/) influenced this story.

Tobio was sure there is a reason behind why his teachers have always prodded him like he was some untameable black jungle cat who was at the extreme edge of truly being domesticated.

And he figured it has something to do with his lack of conversation and his neverending supply of silence. Other children tried so hard to play with him at daycare, and more than enough instructors had bothered him plenty to have him recite the English or Japanese alphabets.

They would always celebrate hastily when he would do it, like if they didn't, he would be silent forever.

Even so, he would retreat back into himself, stare out the windows and avoid. Riding to the museum in a small yellow taxi with his parents and he would not describe the tall buildings or the people he saw walking around or the animals on leashes pissing near fire hydrants like his parents expected their little boy to do at his age. He would sometimes wonder if he was strange and, from a young age, concluded that he must be if everyone one around him could speak when they wanted to and he could not.

Tobio wanted to be loud. And he was. In the recesses of his mind, he shouted and screamed and yelled as he should. He was wildly crazed and dependent on the language of others; how their tongues moved over words and how his mother sang him lullabies before bed or how his father would tell him stories about back home were weirdly entertaining. He stored them away and he would think of each and every sound he heard at night, falling asleep with a twirl of sounds in his head as though everything had been blended together to make one single sound. It crashed and, strangely enough, soothed him into the deepest of sleeps.

His throat didn't want to move around sounds, his lips stalled constantly. His parents would sit at a breakfast table in a small local dinner, eating pancakes and laughing over tea they made themselves (diners never had oolong or proper green tea on hand) when his mother would turn her head only slightly before fully swiveling it at the glimpse of his lips trying to move in just the corner of her eye. Her own lips would open into a round shape and she'd coo for him to speak, touch the baby soft hair on the top of his little head and ask him questions as he tried his absolute best to say something important. His father would pat his knee, say something along the lines of "You can do it, my dear," until he felt his cheeks blossom into a rosy color of frustration and he simply closed his mouth and did not utter a word.

He had nothing to say.

His parents took up every book they could possibly read on the subject matter. His mother was a highly professional school teacher, over qualified to teach foreign languages to high school students, and his father was a small business co-owner of farmer's market specifically for the ethnic minorities in their area. They read at every turn that they could, leading intensely busy and enthralling lifestyles yet concerned with the lack of words they knew their son could speak.

It was at the breakfast table in his tall chair that had a little pillow with the etching of his name in kanji, in a gold-threaded lettering, that he, small and hair just now getting into his face, was questioned by a family doctor. For all Tobio knew, she had no name because she had come so simply as he ate his oatmeal and milk and readied himself for Sunday with his father.

"Kageyama. It is nice to meet you." She had hair like his, black and fine and cut straight across. Hers was longer than his, however, coming to the base of her neck so that she looked somewhat mannish, with her broad shoulders and arms fashioned into finessed muscle.

He nodded when she spoke and did not bother to offer words in return because he had only met her and for someone so new, he did not think her worthy of his speech. He glanced at his mother, her hair disheveled atop her head as she paced around the kitchen waiting for her tea water to boil properly.

His father, he knew, was standing in the master bedroom down the hall of their apartment, probably at the mirror overhead their dresser. He would stare at himself, adjusting his tie so that it was just right, fixing his hair so that none of his supposed bald spots could be seen by anyone (not even Tobio who had an aptitude for pointing them out. This was the only time he spoke to his father oftentimes and though his father would be overflowing with emotions to hear the sweet murmur of his little boy's voice, he would also be embarrassed by the proclamation that turned heads). Tobio fixed his gaze upon the woman again and offered her another nod so that she might continue.

Her eyes were a bit weary, tired most likely as it was very early in the morning and their apartment, though nice and stylish, was hard to find. Parking was hell to find and a coffee sharp, even harder. "Do you have anything you want to say to me?"

Of course, of course, he did not.

He shook his head, rather amused by her attempt, still shoveling oatmeal into his mouth as he watched her collect herself. Despite her exhaustion, she was perky, soothing in a manner that no other person besides his father and mother had ever been soothing. He gathered that, perhaps, she was a distant friend of his parents possibly from back home.

Regardless, words would not develop for her. They simply did not come.

She wiped her hand over her face. "When you said he didn't talk, you meant it." She turned to his mother, who had finally stopped pacing and grabbed at the handle of her tea which had reached the boiling point quite a time ago. She had been too busy observing her son, watching as his hair moved with the shake of his head and the interested look he gave the woman. "I suspect he has mutism based on this morning and the symptoms you described to me in the email but I'd rather not make quick assumptions. I'll watch him further today."

"Do a lot of children have that?" He scrapped the curve of his bowl with the end of his spoon delicately to pick up the leftover oatmeal and carted it into his mouth and listened in to the discussion about him. He, mute maybe, was not docile however and did not lack the capacity to fully express how he felt through facial expressions (and words, should he be presented the opportunity). At that moment, though he wishes he hadn't, he screwed his face into a look of peaked puzzlement. He tasted the sweet strawberry of his oatmeal and proceeded to get up from his chair, slowly, as the women continued to speak.

"Not many. It's rather uncommon among people. He's one of the few children I've known to be diagnosed so late." Tobio stood at the kitchen counter, trying to put his bowl on the small granite space where all the dirty dishes went, while he watched her gather her chin in her hand and regard him with an unusual look of wonderment. He did not bother to hold her gaze for long and concentrated on putting his bowl away properly so that he did not scold. "Have you visited any other doctors or even a psychologist?"

His mother gave her something of a funny look. "Of course. We've seen a speech therapist and he referred us to a psychologist."

The woman hummed, taking notes on a pad of paper she had out on the mahogany surface of their kitchen table. "And what did the psychologist say?"

Tobio remembered what the psychologist had said. He had been administered several intelligence and emotional tests and given, in a separate session with the psychologist and many nurses, brain scans. Before they had gone through a standard check up and given him a lollipop to chew on to supposedly calm his nerves before he went in the fMRI machine but his mother had already whispered kind words to him, told him to be strong and sweet and good and everything would be well. He ate his lollipop, the taste of blueberry on his tongue when they laid him out on the bench.

The results that came in roughly a week later announced he had no neurological reasons for not speaking, deducing that raised activity levels in the amygdala was a problem, though, and sent Tobio back to his psychologist who then announced that the boy's silence had to be contributed to raised anxiety levels.

The psychologist was an American woman he came to know by the name of Mrs. Gemma who always crossed her legs, hands sitting neatly on top. Veins ran all through the back of her hands, knuckles and lower. They showed her age. She had three rings on her finger at all times: one simply designed and quite obviously an engagement ring, her wedding ring with a small, shy diamond encased in the center and another she wore religiously on the ring finger of her right hand though he suspected it was uncomfortable, considering how often it banged against the fountain pen she wrote with on occasion. It had an eagle and shield on it, similar to the ones on her college graduation certificates. He gathered (from his parents) that she served in the Navy and that is how she acquired her certifications.

Mrs. Gemma asked him questions about his parents and if anything was bothering him. They would sit in silence for a long time before she began to talk about her dog, Cherry, who was a mutt from the local pound she adopted some odd few years ago and lavished with love. He had pointed out a picture of the dog on her desk and, since then, whenever they were alone, it was their go-to point of conversation. He would sit with his head cocked to the side, nodding to keep her words coming and she would smile and gesticulate until she ran out of words to give.

Then they would sit in silence until she finally called his parents in to give a full report.

"From what you guys have told me and what your son has expressed, I think he's suffering a kind of social anxiety disorder. I concluded this in our last session but from looking at the results from the doctor's office, I can safely and completely say that is what he has." She pauses for a moment to straighten her legs out before crossing them once again. Like a lady, Tobio thought. "I think we can contribute this to not only biological reasons but also to environmental reasons too. He might have been born with an overactive amygdala but your move from Japan to San Francisco might have triggered it completely. You did say he spoke a lot when he was younger?"

His mother placed a protective and warm hand atop his head as she leaned closer to answer, "Yes. When he was small, he would talk to either of us at length when we were at home but as he grew older, it stopped."

"He wasn't a talkative child in the first place," his father said. "We chalked it up to him being shy. During the move, he acted no different."

Mrs. Gemma and the woman today nodded in the same way when his parents gave them this information except the woman today already knew this, had a file on Tobio in her leather bag sitting on the back of her chair.

"In the reports, it says his IQ was above normal."

His mother hummed and Tobio himself climbed back into his chair, sitting back on his cushion. His mother was quick to come behind him from the kitchen and sit in her usual place at the head of the table, across from where his father typically sat. "He's very smart. When he does talk, he tends to do it in various languages."

"How does he manage to do that? He's only seven." The woman laughed and it felt familiar in the way she leaned away from the table, laughing wholly with her heart in disbelief. "You taught him that, didn't you? That is downright amazing."

"I try," his mother says, shrugging while smiling. The woman's laugh had a timbre that reminded him of that autumn when his father and mother had taken him to the Golden Gate Bridge. Instead of walking the length of the bridge (because his mother was scared of heights and paranoid that something would happen to Tobio should they walked on that thin sidewalk next to the speeding cars), they wandered in the parking lot, staring over the sharp edges. People were taking pictures and climbing over the rocks and structures. Tourists were everywhere and Tobio felt somehow small in that moment and clawed himself to his mother's leg, turning his head up to look at her. In French, he asked  _will you touch my head?_ and she did, pacifying him. And, here, he was calm, blinking slowly at his surroundings and feeling infinitesimal now, but comfortably so. He knew his father got a picture on his Polaroid, the picture printing itself out. His father presented it to his mother, smiling softly and the two leaned their heads together as Tobio held their legs.

The laugh made him feel safe.

He fully concluded that the woman was a friend of his mother's, especially when his father came out of the bedroom, dressed in his Sunday trousers and shined shoes. His hair was cleaned and trimmed since he'd been in the bathroom last night with Tobio's mother at the bathroom sink, styling it so that it was primed. Immediately, when Tobio's father saw the woman, he swept his hand over his hair in a self-conscious manner and said kindly, "Hello, Mori."

"Ayana is just fine."

She smiled as his father sat down at the table. He patted Tobio's little shoulder. "Have you said hello to Ayana-san?" Tobio shook his head and waved over. He did not bother to look at her for too long, feeling somehow uncomfortably warmed by her magnanimous brown eyes.

"I'm so used to the American way of life that I don't even bother with those honorifics anymore."

Tobio's mother nodded, understanding. "We're adjusting. He's adjusting." She looked at Tobio who looked back with a rather blank expression. "Tobio, are you going with your father to the market?"

He answered, "Yes," silently. Ayana's eyes widened by a small fraction before she turned to Tobio's mother. His mother was already smiling, wide and proud but also saddened a bit. Tobio realized he might have been the cause because his mouth did not offer much, just like her own mouth: small smile, no wrinkles around her lips. His eyes lit up, trying extravagantly to come up with something to say but it slipped from him, all the words, any words. None of them were important and so he remained silent.

"He answers when you ask him a question. He's a good boy like that." His mother gazed at him with proud eyes full of a woe only a mother could feel in such an instant.

"Are there situations where he speaks confidently?" Ayana was still looking at him with wonderment, holding her pen in her calloused hands.

His father was the first to speak. He was fixing his cotton tie, the one his mother asked Tobio to pick as a present for Father's Day. It had little polka-dots uniformly lined and what drew Tobio's eye was the sleek navy blue. The color complimented his father's steely irises. His hands fiddled with the fabric as he answered from his seat, "Whenever he's playing a game. He's so animated and when he was littler, he'd jump up in his seat. See, he'd already be standing because he was so small for his age and then he'd be able to put down his last card for Uno and slam it down and yell 'Uno! I beat you!'" He smiled wide, kind teeth and all as he gazed upon Tobio who himself was smiling back though it was awkward as Ayana's and his mother's attention shifted from his father to him directly. "He'll talk the whole time during a game. There is this one game that lasts a long time and he'll sit there and mumble things to himself and then asks me questions or point out a card or tell me what-ifs."

His mother nodded and said, "It is why we have such a full game cabinet over there." She pointed to the heirloom cabinet in the living room.

Ayana hummed and Tobio looked at her directly, interested in her intrigue, and asked, "Do you want to play a game with me?"

His father who was still struggling with straightening his tie offered an apology: "We have to be leaving soon. We'll play a game on the way to the market."

They did. It was twenty questions and the Tobio was a fit of giggles and full of "Daddy!"s when his father cheated spectacularly and changed his object eight questions into the game. It was obvious considering that an octopus is a sea animal while a spider is not. "Daddy, you can't change it in the middle of the game!" Tobio was childishly hysterical with laughter and hit his dad’s arm when they came to a stoplight. His father laughed it off.

It was while they were standing in the market admiring the many fruits at Mrs. Hooper’s stall that his father received a call. Tobio did not talk very much to Mrs. Hooper (even by his own standards which were a greeting, a few comments here and there, and a passing departure) and he kept it to a minimum since his father held his hand tightly, drawing him into the corner of Mrs. Hooper's stall near the brown kiwis and hanging yellow bananas.

" _Hello, dearest?_ " he said in his own language to his wife. Tobio followed closely to the conversation, catching a few " _Are you sure Tobio would like that, though?"_ and _"Is she absolutely sure?"_ He was certain this had something to do with the presence of Ayana that morning; however, when his father said lovingly and softly, " _I will see you soon_ ," Tobio did not draw attention to those clues that something was going to happen.

They greeted their favorite regular stall owners: Mr. and Miss Starek (who were a brother and sister Polish duo who both were not bothered to get married despite Tobio's mother always asking. They sold various types of bagels and cheeses, one, in particular, being a Koryciński cheese that they often put in a bowl with some honey and slices of bread on the side and fed to Tobio whenever his mother told him to sit at their stall), Ms. Lefurgey (who was a beautiful brown woman from France, somewhere outside of Paris in the country. She lived near a vineyard most of her life and, therefore, came to San Francisco to sell wine from a vineyard in Sacramento. She always offered him a bit of wine with some grapes and he drank it once before vowing to never take a sip ever again. The taste burned down his throat, scorching a fire), and the Asturias family (composed of three girls, one oldest boy and a talking parrot that swooped around the vegetables and called out basic Spanglish phrases. The brother would always gift Tobio with a sweetmeat if he could recall a Spanish slang term and because of that game, Sergio became the only one of that family who Tobio would openly greet and thank).

They talked to customers as they pass them by. It was Sunday which meant conversation day, a time to stop and talk to every person they see and ask how they like the place, how their family was and the like. Tobio typically took compliments and nodded and waited patiently for the exchanges to end. They were tedious and usually led into discussing ingredients for lunches or a proper pepper to use for a certain type of fish. While Tobio understood cuisine and the fundamentals of making up a recipe as you go along, he could not remember instructions off the top of his head nor could he talk for hours upon hours about the optimum temperature to simmer a sauce.

So he looked around his surroundings.

He liked the market very much. It was a pretty place full of pretty people who had pretty riveting lives. A single stall was an ecosystem and thrived in its own way. Mrs. Pontecorvo's precinct, for example, was full of desserts of every kind, mostly of a brown hue. There were golden honey browns in the flaky crusts of her baklava, smooth creamy brown of the bombes, the baked bronzed brown of raisin oatmeal cookies.

She was the queen of her castle, the predator of her domain, and in her world was the land of browns and the beautifully bright sight of her red lipstick that she reapplied every other second. She couldn't be bothered to either buy the type of lipstick that didn't smear or stop kissing people on the cheek whenever they said something right.

Right next to her lived a cat of a man by the name of Mr. Prasert whose stall was the complete opposite of Mrs. Pontecorvo's. It was always blue, everywhere. Though the food itself was no blue color, every characteristic of the man struck a person as indigo with the way he always held his head high, hands behind his back as he watched you with heavy eyes that looked almost sad when he handed back change, wearing a single blue item Tobio found religiously on his outfit every time he saw Mr. Prasert. Blue was royal and Mr. Prasert was the overlord of his food.

Every stall was a home and every owner of it, a ruler.

"Tobio," his father called to him when he was done talking to an elderly woman deciding on which radish to take home ("Do I take this radish or this radish?" His father considered it before picking out the best out of the bunch, his face splitting into a smile because that was his favorite thing to do for a person. "You think this radish should do?" He nodded his head and watched the woman pay for it and he only walked away after she patted his cheeks and said sweetly, "You remind me of my son. He was kind. Like you.") and when Tobio replied, wiping his head around, he said, "Would you like a puppy?"

The question seemed almost ridiculous. _Almost_. Though Tobio had never expressed interest in a dog whenever they went to the pet store and always managed to land himself in front of the geckos and fish, he played with the dogs he met around their apartment complex and around the block. He would drag his father outside after his school day was over and the leaves had fallen into piles on the sidewalk. They would walk and walk until Tobio had either attracted so many dogs his father would start sneezing or until Tobio had leaves stuck to the bottom of his shoes and the ends of his trousers were wet enough for his mother to immediately notice once he entered the house.

Dogs liked him. They sniffed him out easily enough because he was small and was kneeling when he got close to a dog so that he could be level with its snout.

They would jump on him, lick his face and make noises and he'd reply back in little _woofs_ and mutter in his language of the day to _sit_ and _what is your name, doggie?_

He kept his talking to a minimum, however, and when he realized (and he _always_ realized) he was talking, he'd stand up, clean up his knees and stand next to his father and feel the redness in his cheeks.

Tobio did this not only with dogs but with other things. When he met a baby, when a waiter asked his order. Even when a UPS man delivered a package to the house and Tobio’s mother said it was a gift from grandma. They always ended with him retreating though and, for that, his parents worried.

Tobio did not give any of this thought, considering he was a small child even despite his intelligence, and instead said, "Yes," nodding his head violently.

He did not speak for a moment, fiddling with his fingers and looking down at his shoes as they walked around the market. His father seemed to purposely only wave at people at this point, saying _hello_ rather than _how are you?_ to avoid being blackholed into a conversation.

He was waiting for Tobio and Tobio did not disappoint. Tobio said in a voice very small, "What type of puppy is it going to be?"

"She is fluffy and white."

Tobio seemed to be sated with an answer like that because he fell quiet for the rest of their time at the market and did not open his mouth until late in the afternoon when they returned to the apartment.

Before entering the apartment, Tobio guessed the puppy had to have already been at the house because of the way his father continued to smile and pet the top of Tobio's head. Though his parents were both beyond physically affectionate and were always touching Tobio in some manner, they never touched him without a purpose.

Once his father opened the apartment door, Tobio heard the soft rumbles of an animal and the padding of soft heavy feet on the wooden floors. A dog taller than Tobio himself came running and nearly knocked him down with the force of its body against his and, though Tobio wanted to cry in that moment, the dog began to lick and sniff him happily as if in apology.

Tobio giggled because the kisses tickled. "Make her stop," he laughed and repeated until, finally, Ayana pulled the dog off by the leash. Once the weight was lifted, Tobio sat on his knees and took in the dog. "Do we get to keep her?" he looked at his parents for an answer.

"Yes. Ms. Ayana bought the dog for you after hearing about how much you like them."

Tobio nodded, still watching the dog as she observed him as well. "Thank you, Ms. Ayana."

 

₍ᐢ•ﻌ•ᐢ₎*･ﾟ｡ 

 

Tobio did not bother to name his new dog until much later (he decided on Luba after his parents pestered him long enough. They asked him why and he said a Russian dog deserves a Russian name). But from the time he received her and from before the moment he named her, she answered nicely to his hand gestures. She would turn down her snout in shame should she be chastised in Japanese, jump up should she be praised in German. Of course, Tobio knew she only responded to his tone of voice and his body language but he kept on believing his dog was multilingual like him and the rest of his family.

What was truly a gift was that Luba was a trained dog, meant to be emotional support. Ayana thought it would be a great idea and, in the long run, it was the best idea. Though it took several weeks to secure claim over Luba, Tobio and she were inseparable from the very moment they met.

For good reason too!

He talked to the dog frequently. He spoke up more, was generally more excited to share information. He didn’t doubt that whatever he had to say was unimportant because Luba was a dog. Yes, a smart and highly aware dog but, nonetheless, a dog who couldn’t care less what Tobio said.

Confidence like that builds inside a person until they are bubbling over with words. Tobio practically had things to say for _days._

But despite having gone to therapy and making big strides since the age of seven to "fix" who he was for himself and his parents, he still had problems. Things he tallied on to his list of issues that he discussed with his dog. They would lay up at night, staring out the window at the moon and the many street lights and cars and people, and he'd talk about whatever was bothering him on that particular day.

Sometimes, it was the assignments his teachers gave him or a comment a girl made to him about his lack of an accent or the surprised look a teacher gave him when he said he wasn't particularly good at math. He'd save it all for Luba because he knew she would lay on his chest and listen to his complaints, allow her ears to twitch and lift her head when he became a disturbing kind of upset that sent him into a sudden silence.

She would pat his chest, lick his ear to make him giggle, and deliver a doggish smile (he thought she could smile, at least. It looked like it).

He liked his nights with her. She was supportive.

Recently, he’d been hung up on being transferred to a new language class. The school administration had mistakenly placed him back in French 1 with all the freshmen who ogled Luba and gawked at his masterful language skills.

He wasn’t being challenged and through he was fluent, he belonged in French 4 with the rest of his classmates.

For two weeks, he’s missed Tooru’s hard stares in the back of his head. Though it wasn’t his favorite part, it was familiar and far removed from the constant hoard of fourteen-year-olds who blatantly wanted to put their disgusting lunch-covered fingers in Luba’s soft _incredibly difficult to clean_ hair.

Needless to say, he’d been highly stressed out by his situation at hand.

“Tooru came up to me the other day. It was weird. I mean, he said the class was boring without me and I know he hates me a lot.” He turned on his side to face Luba. “He says there’s this guy in there who’s more annoying than me. I think he’s either actually disappointed I’m not in his class or he’s trying to be nice. No _way_ he thinks someone’s more annoying than me.”

He smiled and he thought Luba maybe smiled too.

When he woke in the morning and was transferred to French 4 with Tooru, he was undoubtedly greeted by the people he loved the most: foreign language nerds who didn’t touch his dog.

He loved it for the two minutes it lasted.

“Oh, hey there.” A voice, addressing him it seemed, permeated the classroom and, just from the roll of Tooru’s eyes and the tension in his shoulders, Tobio knew this wasn’t going to be good. He turned around with Luba following and his eyes landed on a dazzling sight: A boy with eyes he could stare at for days. “Hi! Are you new?” He held so many books in his hand, stacked up from biggest to smallest in his small hands.

“No.” Tobio shuffled his feet and surveyed this Hinata Shouyou he’d heard so much about.

At Tobio’s tone, however, Hinata Shouyou looked like cold ice had been poured down his jeans (high-waisted jeans, at that, with heeled black boots. Tobio was starting to understand why Tooru might actually dislike this boy more than he disliked Tobio. He was fashionable, gorgeous with his long oddly colored hair and multitude of piercings. He seemed smart, holding a calculus advanced placement exam prep book. And, again, he was cute. To the point of delirium). “Um, okay.” He paused in favor for humming to himself, seemingly thinking. “You can sit next to me if you want?”

“Sure.” And he sat down next to one of the biggest anomalies he’s ever encountered.

It had been cloudy all day that day over the Bay area and the air was sticky. By midnight, it was drizzling and Luba couldn't sleep so he stayed awake even though he had a history test tomorrow and talked to her about only one person. "He has orange hair; who has orange hair? _Why_ would anyone dye their hair _orange?_ And he's so loud. I don't get it, Luba." Her eyes were a pretty chocolate color and she blinked like an old woman. Slowly, sweetly, taking her time to observe all that was him. “He’s so,” he looked for any word to describe him but gave up with a huff to which Luba huffed herself. He laughed at how she mimicked him.

Luba never did provide any answers before and did not provide any answers then but, still, he thanked her and implored for her to get her sleep.

The next night was very much the same. Tobio was touching her hair, carding through it and allowing for her fine hairs to fall into his hands and in between his fingers. Of course, he cut her hair short to keep her from overheating but, even so, she still managed to get stupidly hot. He blamed his parents for this. They should have picked a dog more suitable for San Francisco, not a Russian dog. But, hey, she was sweet and loving and softly barked whenever he was crying as if to say _No, do not do that, my little darling._

So, he cannot say that he minded all that much especially while he went on a tangent. "He has really soft hands. I've never known a boy to have such soft hands. Luba, do you think I have soft hands?" Hinata had touched Tobio's hand that day as they both went to grab a fallen pencil. Hinata had retracted, smiled, and said something about how clumsy he was. Tobio said absolutely nothing, struck dumb by the event and though he knew he typically did not say anything to his peers, he knew he was being rude especially as he gawked for fifteen minutes after the whole incident.

“I see why Oikawa doesn’t like him. He’s so,” he looked for a word in the air and snatches it once he thought of it, “ _confident._ Agonizingly confident. He’s always walking into class with boots on and who wears boots in September? It’s September!” This boy was actively running miles in Tobio’s mind right then.

“And he wears these thick gloves. I asked Oikawa about it. They have aloe vera in them? I’m gonna guess that’s what makes his hands so soft but who does that? Grandma wears those.”

Hinata truly had the softest hands ever. Soft for a volleyball player, he figured, and soft for someone who continuously bit his nails when he was taking tests and soft for someone who was always falling down on the pavement, scraping the skin off his palms. His hands were so incredibly soft.

"I still haven’t really talked to him." Luba's motherly visage soured, it seemed, upon hearing that Tobio was still socially inept. Gazing out his window at the droplets of water on his windowpane, he promises, "Maybe I'll say something tomorrow."

Tobio ended up asking a friend about Hinata by the name of Suma, a girl who despite being much more friendly than he and having more friends than he could ever dream of, stuck with him.  She, with her hair done up in curls for the day, said, "You dork! Just, ya know, talk to him, Kag." The nickname was one she made a long time ago when they were both too small and their voices couldn't say long words without stumbling somewhere.

"He doesn't really talk to new people all that often, does he?" Agatha, a tall girl who reached even the bookshelves he couldn't reach, pitched into the conversation. "You said he was in our second-grade class? He couldn't have been."

Suma eyed Agatha in a manner that shut the girl up. Tobio appreciated the way she looked out for him. Never once did anyone try to challenge his existence if she could help it. "So, _anyhow_ -" she rolled her eyes, peeved. "His name is Hinata."

“Yeah,” he said, with a touch of snark. “I know that. I’m not that bad about asking people for basic information. I just don’t know how to start a conversation with him is all. And I really want to talk to him. Maybe ask him to hang out or somethin’.” He fiddled with Luba’s collar as his voice meddled into the background of the cafeteria.

Tobio liked Suma very much. She moved into the apartment complex when he was entering his second year of junior high and she entered her first. Together, they navigated his quietness and she fell in love with Luba. After several years of knowing her, he figured they’d never be apart.  

At first, she was an intimidating figure in his life. She had steely gray eyes and brothers too buff for him to even imagine talking to. They all, of course, were always kind and sweet and talked to him like a little brother and he grew to be comfortable in their home when he visited Suma to help her with projects.

They would sit in her homey kitchen, too many chairs for the dining room table, and lean over her books and read her notes on pre-algebra and French Revolution and all the things he found disinteresting. He would tell her this but she would wave him off and say, "Yeah, but you still do well in school. Shut up and help me." So he would because he was a good best friend.

She was the first person who knew about Tobio's sexual persuasion. It was while they were walking to a park near their complex with Luba trailing ahead of them slowly that she asked if he had ever dated a boy. He was _still_ trying to figure out this Hinata boy and asking all kinds of questions about him when she asked. "Do you like girls? Or boys? Or do you like whatever? I don't really care but I'm just curious." She tended to ramble when she was with him, considering that she was the one who had to fill in the blanks in their conversations since he would not.

He shrugged his shoulders and watched Luba lift her head once the topic of Tobio came up. Sometimes, he wondered if she could understand them and their language.

"I don't know."

The sidewalk was covered in small stray branches and leaves as it was nearing autumn. Suma was a girl who always itched to hold something in her hand and, as expected, grabbed one. It was decorated with lush green leaves and she plucked them one by one off the grayish brown branch. "So you're saying you don't care?"

"I don't know."

Luba circled his feet as they approached the gate to the park and she hopped up the step to enter the piles of mulch. Tobio and Suma went to the swings. They felt they were too old to play on the jungle gym or in the playhouse.

"Kag, think about it. Would you date a girl?" He started swinging and he thought about it as he observed Luba walk around the play set. "Would you date a boy?" Suma tried again.

"I really don't know."

They sat in silence. He was grateful there were no little kids that lived near them and that the playground was basically theirs to do whatever they wanted at. Every day, it was the exact same: the sun shining and the trees around them towering over the set along with the buildings it was built between. It was relatively small but it was a smart move by the architectures since no one but them used it.

The swings creaked with every move. "Do you see yourself dating _Hinata_?"

He had already thought of that, awkwardly enough. About asking Hinata to come home with him one day and do homework with him, or walk him home himself and lean forward to press his lips to Hinata's forehead. He thought about what kind of face Hinata would make: Would he become red as he often did when he was complimented for his enthusiasm in their French class or would he be silent for once, standing stuck as he took in the kiss before making up his mind to kiss Tobio back?

Tobio had seen Hinata silent before, quiet and thinking as he gathered himself before doing something that made his hands shake and his voice shiver (Tobio liked that about Hinata. He was an open book, so clearly confident to the point that he was always having to push himself to do things). Tobio had thought about the face he would make should he take his hand and swing their arms around as they walked. He had imagined the absolute delight that would flood Hinata's face if he offered to carry his books and walk to the local ice cream shop with him on Friday.

His cheeks warmed. "I've thought about it." He moved over every word deliberately.

"You should talk to him." She slowed her swing. "He'd like you. He does like you, actually. He's asked me before about you and why you don't participate. Apparently," her voice grew teasing, "you get the best grades and he wanted to be your partner for an assignment."

"Okay," he decided. "I'll talk to him."

“God, finally. Then you can stop asking me about him.”

“You know,” he stopped swinging for a second to turn a teasing smile on Suma, “I don’t appreciate how I’ve been targeted this evening. Why don’t we talk about how you have this big fat gross crush on that boy in your biology class, hm?”

“You aren’t my big brother, Kags. You can’t scare me off the topic of you and Hinata kissing in a tree, K-I-S-S--Ow! Tobio!”

Tobio had thrown a stick at Suma and began running away, guffawing as Suma followed him with the funniest facial expression he’d ever seen on her face. “You play with fire you might get burned! So don’t make fun of me!”

“Whatever, Tobio.” She threw mud at his shirt and that’s what started the mud fight and resulted in Luba needing a bath that night.

After she was clean, Luba gave him a pep talk that night. "Hinata is beautiful and attractive but that doesn’t make him any less human. Even perfect humans like Hinata talk get flustered or stare too long (Hinata has stared too long at Tobio the other day. Oikawa noticed and commented about how Tobio should definitely make a move and if Oikawa noticed then Hinata had to be interested in him, right? Right?).” He paused in his speech, allowing Luba to lean up with her front paws on his chest and lick his face. It tickled so he giggled. "Stop that, Luba."

Next morning, he ended up sitting by himself, reading a book in the courtyard near the lunchroom. Suma had allowed him to borrow her copy of one of her books **.** The book absorbed him as it navigated the adolescence of the main character and every word riveted him to the core. His fingers moved over each page, ready to flip through the chapters and the paragraphs before he was even ready to move on.

Someone tapped his shoulder cautiously, clearing their throat and all Tobio saw was a smile too boisterous for 07:35 in the morning. Yet, he wanted to grin as loudly as the boy in front of him was. "Hi, Kageyama. What are you reading?"

Tobio looked over Hinata who stood almost sheepishly in front of him. He was shuffling around on the soles of his pale-colored Adidas sneakers and tucking at the ends of his collared shirt. Every day, Hinata wore jeans shorts, peter-pan collared shirts and long jackets to shield himself from the December morning air, appearing somehow ambiguously gendered, neither boy nor girl. Tobio, for the first time, realized this and didn't know what to do with this information.

"I'm reading this book." He turned over the book for Hinata to look at. “Also,” he added as a second thought, “It’s Tobio. Just Tobio.”

“Okay, ‘just Tobio,’” Hinata smiled. “I’ve read parts of that book.” Hinata's voice had a feminine shrillness to it, pleasant somehow.

Tobio hummed in question and Hinata took a seat next to him, setting his book-bag (a sort of off-white messenger back he hung off his right shoulder that had lots and lots of buttons on it) on the ground near his feet. He situated himself before turning to smile again and pointing at the book to hold. Tobio gave it to him and, in the meantime, their hands touched. "I read bits and pieces of it. My mother is an English tutor and had me read this to advance my vocabulary when I was little." Tobio nodded and Hinata was flipping through the pages, touching the old creased dog-eared pages reverently, looking back up at Tobio sometimes. Tobio assumed it was because of that nervous glint he saw in Hinata's eyes like Tobio was going to get up and leave. "I really liked what I read. Maybe I'll read it seriously at some point. Is the rest of the book any good?"

Together, they searched through the world of the main character's childhood and the realistic fictional world and they commented on select parts of the book. Hinata found out he'd read the first chapter and Tobio made a promise to tell him how he liked the book when he was finished. "I'm likely to finish it today, actually," he added.

Hinata's head tilted as he was adjusting the strap to his bag on his shoulder and he said, "Maybe we could meet up after school. Maybe we could go to your house?" Tobio thought about it and nodded. "Maybe we could go there?"

"Maybe."

All in all, Tobio did not finish the book but it didn't matter because he was already sitting on a beach outside the school, waiting for Hinata to emerge from the art building. His arms were covered in pink and yellow paint and he was picking it off with his little fingers as he casually held his phone, obviously texting someone. He approached Tobio confidently. "Hi!" Tobio noticed how shy Hinata was around him, from the way he tucked strands of his long hair behind his pierced ear to the shuffling of his feet once he landed directly in front of Tobio. "So, you didn't finish it?" He saw the bookmark stuck at the end. Face falling slowly, Tobio suspected Hinata was going to suggest he still come over. But he didn't. Possibly to not be rude or out of some uncharacteristic shyness bundled inside Hinata.

"We could finish it together. If you want." He understood the awkward movement of his tongue in his mouth, the way his words came out garbled and how slow he had to talk to keep himself from stuttering. Suma told him he did that often when they first met and he'd since gotten better about it when meeting new people but he remembers her saying soothingly in a rich brown Spanish that reminded him of the blaze of cooking in her kitchen when they had first begun making dumplings together, Baby, _don't start mushing your words together just because you're nervous. Tell me how to make this fucking food._ He had been she would get another white burn mark on her skin and he was nervous now that he'd be marked in Hinata's memory as a blubbering idiot.

Hinata did not catch his discomfiture and picked off a large glob of paint running from his wrist to the middle of his forearm. He looked back up to Tobio, "I'm sorry about all the paint! I've been working on this painting and it's such a mess. I hope you don't mind."

Tobio drew a breath and spoke, "I don't mind at all. Do you want to start walking?" Hinata smiled, putting his phone in his back pocket to leave his hands free.

They walked and the whole time, Tobio could only think about reaching over and holding his hand. From the night he told Luba about Hinata's hands (the first night he ever thought to tell Luba anything about the guy), he always wondered, figured if he was given an opportunity, he would definitely take it. But he had barely the guts to even brush the knuckles of his hand against Hinata's, leading Hinata to stall whenever he spoke or flutter his eyelashes in surprise. Tobio liked the pauses and watching Hinata have to recollect himself. His hand was warm, his cheeks looked flushed by the time they reached Tobio's apartment and he felt somehow older and mature like he was finally seventeen and able talk to a boy.

"I'm really nervous for my midterm," he said as Tobio opened the gate to the complex. "I don't know if I'll finish it in time." For their short walk, Hinata was explained his art class and what exactly he was making with yellow and pink paints which was his little sister sitting in a flower pot: "Flowers are growing out of her and I'm so excited to make it! It's a pain but I love it!"

"I think you'll manage. You seem very smart." He saw the blush flood Hinata's face as he looked back and forth from his trembling hands putting the key into the door knob and Hinata's face, his bangs, his piercings and his fingertips touching the edge of his jean shorts. He managed to open the door despite being distracted by the appearance of more skin and the prospect of being alone in a room with Hinata.

"I only seem smart?" Hinata laughed lightly, something like a bell.

Tobio opened the door and said, "Oh," his face falling into a serious expression of regret. He felt his forehead furrow.

Hinata was still laughing and he reached up, rubbing his thumb against Tobio's wrinkled forehead. It felt like electricity against Tobio’s skin. "I understand what you meant. Don't stress yourself out so much!" He tapped Tobio's cheek before entering the house, peeling his shoes off in the foray and saying probably to Tobio's mother, " _Hello_ ," in Japanese like a sweet boy. Tobio, however, was preoccupied with the residual stickiness of Hinata's touch on his skin, on his face, so delicate yet calloused. He did not ponder it for too long as his mother was asking for an introduction.

He cleared his throat. "This is Hinata. I invited him over last minute." He said the last part slightly lower and apologetically though he knew there was no need. His mother was already reaching to touch Hinata's shoulders and took his bag off his shoulders.

" _It is lovely to meet you, ma'am,_ " Hinata said, bright but warily in Japanese. His face split into a polite expression, still peeling off paint as he and Tobio's mother rustled around.

"Do you want a snack?" Hinata looked so relaxed to hear the switch to English and he nodded only to turn around and wait for Tobio who was still setting his shoes aside and tidying up the small entrance. He waited much like Luba does in the morning for Tobio to leave, watching unwaveringly with his head cocked to the side so that the hair on his head fell due to gravity. Once Tobio sat up, Hinata couldn't seem to help the gladness that radiated off of him and he held a hand out for Tobio to take like Tobio didn't know where his own kitchen was in his own tiny home.

They rounded the corner into the kitchen and his mother saw their hands linked together, Tobio was sure of it by the way her happy humming increased and her wink when she placed the cut up apples in front of them.

Hinata grabbed the bowl of apple slices with his unoccupied hand and turned to Tobio. "Where's your room?" He turned his head as he said that and Tobio felt his hand begin to perspire in Hinata's soft hands.  

"Follow me." Tobio took his hand out of Hinata's reluctantly and walked through the apartment, down a hall, and into his bedroom. Luba sat right at the door.

"You know, I really love your dog." Tobio said nothing as Hinata set the bowl down on a desk and fell to the floor to observe the fluffy whiteness of Luba. "She is gorgeous." Hinata hunched over, shoulders moving forward as he tried to move his hand gently over her belly. "And so soft." He sighed. "What's her name?"

"Luba."

" _Luba_ ," Hinata said and it was sweet and quiet on his tongue. “I’ve heard you say that for months and I’ve never caught on for some dumb reason.”

Tobio coughed. _I don’t think you’re dumb, dummy._ "Do you want to read the book?"

Hinata nodded, and so the two of them fell onto his bed and Tobio fumbled with the book, touching the pages clumsily as Hinata settled himself into Tobio's pillows. His hair fanned out on the white pillowcase and his hands rested on his stomach, right where his shirt rode up. Tobio tried not to choke, tried not to look and made it to the page. He started at the beginning of chapter twenty-five, reading quietly, "'They won't let me in.'"

The two of them ease into the bed, leaning back into the cushions and Hinata seems to attentive even though he's only read a small portion of the book and doesn't know the characters or the developments of the main character like Tobio did. It didn't matter though because Tobio liked the warmth of his body next to him on his small twin bed. He liked the press of their thighs together, the occasional stare from Hinata's eyes, the soft gasps as more details were revealed.

Tobio finished the book and felt empty. It was a haunting ending so he sat in a silence, clouded by the characters' lives. In the time it took Tobio to read twenty or so pages, Luba had fallen asleep and drawn herself closer and closer to Tobio's side of the bed and now he patted her head, swallowed by emotions.

"Have you dealt with something traumatic before?" Hinata broke the silence and Tobio shook, turning very suddenly to look at Hinata. The face he made was startled but it must have come off as frightening because Hinata made himself small, furrowing his eyebrows and stumbled over an apology, "I didn't mean to ask such a personal question. We barely know each other. I'm sorry-"

"No," Tobio kept frowning though his voice was soft. "No. Don't be sorry. I mean, it's pretty personal and we _do_ barely know each other, now that I think about it." He stopped himself, knowing that that's probably more words than he's said at any one time to anyone besides Suma, Luba, and his parents. Hinata looked amazed, dazzled in fact and he smiled before. "The answer is no. I'm not like the kid in the story. I'm just incredibly anxious, so Ms. Ayana and my therapist say. And my parents. And Luba especially."

"Your dog?" Hinata smiled too.

"She talks to me."

Hinata laughed. "Is she saying anything right now?"

Tobio looked over to Luba and thought, _This is like a game Dad and I use to play_. "Well, she wants to know if you're going to read the rest of this book." Hinata nodded, still smiling and went to pet Luba. "And she wants to know if you'll come to see her more often."

"Definitely."

"And she wants to know," he stopped, feeling heat rush to his cheeks as he got an idea, a daring one. He could say she wanted Hinata to kiss him. He could. He was sure Hinata would do it, even a small one. But it was too daring and too much of a risk and he kept it to himself because the fire in his belly and the inferno in his head was so much, he couldn't bear to breathe. "She wants to know why you dress like that?"

Hinata's cheeks flushed however at the question and he began to tangle his fingers in Luba's short hair. His voice was hard to hear when he said, "I feel comfortable in them. Cute, even."

Tobio flushed too. He thought Hinata could be cute in absolutely anything he decided to wear, gosh, he could.

"She wants to know if you know that you're always cute." Tobio never flirted, never. Ever. He didn't know what he was doing but he was sure by the way Hinata wasn't looking at him that he was being absolutely embarrassing and should stop before Hinata left or slapped him. Or both.

Hinata did not respond for some time and Tobio was afraid he'd made a misstep before Hinata said, "Do you like me, Tobio?"

He did not bother to lie. "Yes."

And Hinata reached over and kissed him, sweet as sugar and chaste as ever. One hand was planted in the cushions and the other was on Tobio's shoulder, pulling him closer and closer, it seemed, into Hinata's mouth, into _him._ He felt wholly consumed, he felt the fire from earlier returning full force as they kissed and kissed again. Hinata was clumsy, making mistakes and never deepening it whatsoever, and Tobio was too stunned to do anything despite him _wanting_ to.

Hinata pulled back, eyes closed, and said slowly, "I should have asked first. I'm sorry." There was a rasp to his voice, thick and deep at the back of his throat and Tobio could not fault him for near speechlessness. He laid back down in the cushions, staring at the ceiling.

Tobio himself wanted to talk and he wanted to speak but words weren't coming up his throat. It was hard but he managed, especially after seeing the desperately disappointed look on Hinata's face, like Tobio rejected him. "I'm fine."

"What?"

"I'll be just _fine,"_ he reiterated and grabbed Hinata like he had wanted to and he kissed him like he had wanted to, open mouthed and accepting and murmuring words without thinking. “I’ve been thinking about kissing you since you got here.” His hands tangled in Hinata's hair and he wasn't too sure about how to kiss but, boy, had he thought about it enough and imagined it often enough that even though he felt the ocean was raging around him and storms were falling out of the sky, he'd be just fine so long as Hinata with his lips like velvet kept on kissing him and whispering in Japanglish.

“You know, I’ve liked you for awhile now,” he whispered, in between kisses. He pressed a kiss to Hinata’s cheek and let his lips led him to wherever they plundered.

“What exactly do you like about me?” Hinata whispered back.

Tobio shrugged, placing a gentle hand on Hinata’s cheek so he could kiss up the side of his neck. Nothing but chaste kisses covered Hinata’s skin but Tobio was simmering with want. “Everything, honestly.” Hinata hummed when Tobio kissed his Adam's apple.

When he, with no preamble, moved his way back up to Hinata’s lips and brushed his mouth against his chin, they smiled at one another before Hinata leaned up and laughed into his mouth, causing him to laugh too.

“Do you want to go on a date with me? I’ll pay.” Hinata blushed when he finished the offer.  

Tobio couldn't talk then, not even with Luba right by his side or all the therapy in the world, but he'd be fine.

“Yeah.”

Yeah, everything would be just fine.

**Author's Note:**

> I have made this promise to my friend not to delete this for at least four months and, I don't know, I really like this premise though I'm fervently shaking my imaginary self because there is something amiss in this story!! I hope that when I write other _longer_ stories, I don't feel like everything I've written is lackluster like I'm feeling right now. 
> 
> Regardless of how I feel, I'm considering writing a long fic based off this. Probably from Hinata's point-of-view, finding out more about Tobio and coming to like him so much and blah blah -- you know the drill. They will probably be older and dumber than they are here. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! This work was a long time coming (like, months-of-sitting-in-my-wips-folder long time coming).
> 
> edit #1: So my friend pointed out Luba was allowed at school and then I started doing research about whether dogs are allowed at schools (before anyone else might ask me). The ADA (Americans with Disabilities Act) says service dogs are allowed in public places though, with an emotional support dog/psychiatric service dog, it greatly depends. Luba, though it isn't obvious, is trained to sense an anxiety attack. Because she can do that, she is formally known as a psychiatric service dog and fits under the ADA and is permitted in public places like public schools. Generally, classrooms are left up to the administration, however.
> 
> edit #2: I forgot to add my twitter and tumblr, lol. If you wanna casually talk to me, totally follow [my public twitter (this is a lot of me talking about news and my writing and shit like that)](https://twitter.com/poetjasmi) and if you wanna become my best friend, you should probs follow [my private twitter](https://twitter.com/JasTabor). Read it and weep. It's a lot of me yelling and taking pictures of myself and I'm a hell of a person to be friends with, tbh. My fandom/fanfic tumblr is [right here (please send me writing prompts, dudes. I'm trying to get better about writing in 2017)](http://rebelrumi.tumblr.com/) and my "normal" blog is right [here](http://poetjasmi.tumblr.com/). Lol. I have so many accounts.


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